We are Alive
by naturegirlrocks
Summary: Both Harry and Draco just wants to stay who they are. Returning to Hogwarts after the war sets their resolutions to the test.


Harry had two big holes in his hallway at #12 Grimmauld Place. He had still not really settled with the thought that it was _his_ hallway, but the holes were there none the less. The first hole was from is removal of the closet under the stairs. He had felt quite bad finding out that he had a closet under the stairs, but as soon as the wars, and the following celebrations, were over, and he had taken residence, he had blasted that damn closet from existence. Of course he had re-located the closet resident ghoul to the attic before he did that. It had only screamed half as much Mrs. Black had done when Harry had pried her of the wall with several heavy curses.

He would never return to being treated like that again. That was why he was going back to Hogwarts to get his Nearly Exhausting Wizarding Levels. Sure he was the hero of the Wizarding world, but what did that matter when what you did to achieve that title was to physically hurt, curse, maim and kill several people. More than half of all the people he knew could live up to those conditions, and that was not something to be proud of.

Granted, Harry's one and only kill had been impressive, but it was not like he didn't have any help. Ron had killed Voldemort twice; the locket and the diadem. Dumbledore, Hermione and Neville had killed Voldemort once each (and if you count the snake, Neville had killed two at one go). Voldemort had even killed himself when trying to kill Harry. Harry had also killed Voldemort twice, but he had not even known that was what he was doing as he destroyed the diary. By the time Harry made the last killing blow, Voldemort had already been weakened. The only thing Harry really could be proud of was the endfight, but even in that he had help of the former actions of both Severus Snape and Draco Malfoy.

That was another issue all together. Harry had seen Malfoy at Snape's funeral. Harry had been there of plight, Malfoy had actually cried over the casket. It made Harry feel like the worst hypocrite ever. He had gone through seven year literally hating Snape for all he was worth, never even once taking heed to the enormous trust Dumbledore had put in the man. And there was Malfoy crying honest tears. Malfoy was someone that, in Harry's eyes, would feel more betrayed by Snape's actions than anyone else. He marvelled so that Malfoy could put all the lies and manipulation behind him. The feeling like a hypocrite came from that Harry hadn't even forgiven Dumbledore for the lies and manipulations.

He had went home that night to an empty house, if you didn't count for Dobby, Creature and some variously demonically possessed furniture, to think over his life and his options. The product of this thinking had now resulted in the two holes in the hallway and the application for the N.E.W.T's.

"Are you sure you are serious?" asked Hermione for at least the forth time since they had boarded the Hogwarts Express.

She had over the summer singlehandedly appointed herself as Harry's private assistant, just as Ron and Neville had appointed themselves bodyguards, Luna as misty headed advisor and Ginny as girlfriend. It was only the last appointment Harry had a problem with, but he would fight that bull when that time came around.

"Hermione, we have gone over this," Harry sighed looking over the stacks of gifts and letters that had been handed to him and his friends as they had passed between the Platform 9 ¾ to the compartment in which they now were sitting. "I thought you wanted to get your N.E.W.T's, all ten of them."

"Eleven," she said haughtily. "But that is neither here nor there. It's the other thing that's worrying me."

"Come of it, Mione," said Ron curiously looking over a heart shaped box of chocolate cauldrons, testing them carefully for any sign of love potions. "If Harry wants to be the new Dumbledore, rather than being a professional Quiddich player or a junior under the Minister, let him."

"Junior under what…?" Harry raised a brooding eyebrow from his hand that Ginny insisted on holding.

"_Junior undersecretary to the Minister of Magic_," said Hermione. "Kingsley asked yesterday, but when I said that you wanted to go back to school he was all for it. He even sounded happy for you."

"Yeah," Harry kicked out his foot and bumped his heal back with a bump to the seat. "I'd rather not work for the Ministry for now. It's the same wolf, only in a new sheep's clothing."

"Aren't we metaphorical," smiled Hermione and looked to Neville and Luna who was whispering lovey-dovey by the window. "And I quite agree on you there. The Ministry is stuck in its own tracks. Politics, bureaucracy and routines are hard habits to break, even after a change of government..."

"Listen," Harry took a breath. "I'm going to tell you once and for all, and then no more questions. I'm not going to be the 'New Dumbledore'; I'm going to be the 'New Harry Potter'. I will _never_ let anything like this war happen again. Never! To do this I need to know stuff. I trust in you, as my best friends, to support me and maybe help guide me. I have the chance and means to do something. To have Dumbledore as a role model is just to remind me that no one is infallible and anyone can make a wrong choice."

His friends nodded in consent. Hermione wiped a tear from her eye but smiled none the less. He could see the pride in their faces as they looked at him. Why was he then still miserable? Harry sighed again, looking down on his hand clasped in Ginny's. He could still clearly read the words that where carved in his skin. Ginny's fingers hid some of the letters, so the sentence no read _I… a lie_. How oddly fitting. They were magical scars, not likely to ever really fade away. Just like the scar on his forehead. Just like the scars that he himself had left over Draco Malfoy's body in a Hogwarts bathroom not so long ago.

"I need to go to the toilet," he said, pulling himself free from Ginny.

Draco sat in his own compartment. He had just shown his face, and all of the former occupants had fled, even though they were all Slytherins. With a smirk, that was more of a habit than anything else, he opened the lunchbox his Mother had packed him. Draco was happy she had done so because he doubted that the candy cart lady was coming by his compartment any time soon. Narcissa had packed him sandwiches, hazelnut biscuits and butterbeer. She probably had help from the house elves since the sandwiches with liverwurst and pickles were actually tasty.

The Malfoys had concluded that they never again would be dishonoured like they had been during the last years. Before Lucius had been taken away to be a good-behaved prisoner of Azkaban for ten years and Narcissa had donned her apron of the devoted waiting housewife, Draco had promised them both that he wouldn't let them down. And that he'd rather die than change who he was. Which was rather a big statement for someone who'd been fighting with beaks and claws for the last three years to stay alive. He was not leaning back on their still vast family fortunes and hide for the rest of his life. Draco knew that his parents had never been prouder of him.

He stretched his legs over three seats and adjusted the pillow he had conjured behind his back. It was a miracle that he still had a wand, and even more a miracle that he still had full freedom to use it. Partly it was because Potter's statement in court, and partly because no part of Draco's lily-white skin bore any sign of a Dark Mark. The two that could testify to this were the two people that had stripped him down in a holding cell, the Minister of Magic Kinsley Shacklebolt and the Head of Aurors Arthur Weasley. Neither of them had conceded to his request to publish a photo of his untarnished arms in the Prophet. Too sensationalistic, they had said. Well screw them. They were not the one walking around like a piranha on broad daylight, or something like that.

Draco took up the thick notebook that he had been given by Snape on his seventeenth birthday. The one that his old professor had been writing as they hid away in a small, magically hidden, cottage inside the Forrest of Sherwood. It contained every single bit of useful knowledge that had been inside Snape's head, and the man had been a genius. The gift always reminded Draco that Snape had not expected to live to see the end of the war, which ever side won. Draco always kept the book with him, like a talisman and as a company through the lonely times. He had hid it in the secret parts of the manor every time there was a raid.

He gave Caesar, his new eagle owl, the crust of the sandwich. The bird gulped it down and blinked his yellow eyes at the compartment door. Draco turned to look and noticed four Ravenclaw girls, fourth years he thought, look in at him. They shrieked and scurried off. Draco wished he could pull the blind down, but that would only make him more suspicious looking. He still had his pride. And as any true Slytherin and Malfoy he had ambition and determination. These where traits that could very well be suppressed by a mad megalomaniac living at one's home, but they were not traits that could be taken away from someone that is true to them.

Nobody could know how it was going to end, but they would never take him down. By 'them' Draco meant all those who would heckle and jeer him, all those who would try to beat him with fists and wands, and all those who would stand in his way when he just tried to live his life and be true to himself, his house and his family.

"That's right," he murmured as he fed Caesar with an oddly shaped biscuit. "You run. I'm still alive, and I'm not leaving."

The next moment Potter passed the door, probably on his way to the small toilet that was on the other side of the cart. Their eyes met for a moment. Potter blinked in surprise and then he was gone. Draco buried himself in Snape's thorough notes on defensive spells; he was sure he would need to use every one of them at least once before the Christmas holidays.

Harry sat sideways on the lid of the toilet, his back to the wall, and his feet on the sink. There it had been; another change in his life. In the about fifteen steps he had taken between his compartment to the train toilet there had been a change. Harry had stopped seeing changes as good things long ago. Sure, the change from mentally abused little boy to famous wizard had been kind of cool. But then there had been the change from famous wizard to school's whisper subject. And then the changes from hero to liar, to killer, to liar, to hero, to traitor, to most wanted, to dead, to killer, to hero, to posterboy, to boyfriend…

He leaned his head back, banging the top of his head in the wall, staring at the uncovered light bulb in the ceiling. When had Draco Malfoy become attractive? Sure, he'd always looked good, that can't be denied, and even Hermione had said so in weak moments. Harry had been attracted to men before. But only attraction like in acknowledgement of their good looks. Oliver Wood, Cedric Diggory, Seamus Finnegan, Justin Finch-Fletchy… Piers Polkiss… Severus Snape… Harry banged his head in the wall again and tried to imagine Ginny naked. _Ugh, not Ron!_

He looked around the small cubical, it was surprising that he sought comfort in these places. Growing up in a small cabinet under the stairs of the Dursley house Harry had never been bothered by small places. What had bothered him was the yelling, the hits on the back of his head, the lock and bars on his room, the bullying, the beating, the teasing…

"Death Eater scum!"

Harry looked at the door from which behind the angry voice had come. He frowned, feeling a bit uneasy. Harry got up from his strange seating arrangement and unlocked the door. There was a crash of glass. Harry opened the door a small gap and looked out. There was a small crowd over by the compartment where Malfoy was seated.

"How dare you come back here after what you have done?" the upset voice growled.

Harry made a move to move, but was stopped in his tracks when an all too familiar voice came from the other side of the crowd.

"What I've done?" Draco's haughty tones rang over the noise of the train and the mumble of the students. "I would have you know _Mr_ my-dad-was-a-collaborator-but-got-off-free-because-he-blamed-it-on-the-Imperius, that I dare to do a lot more than you ever done."

"I've never… How dare you…"

"Again with the dare? Are you lacking somewhere? Your vocabulary is atrocious."

"You…!"

"I would love to talk to you more, but as you see there is glass all over the floor and you wouldn't want your face pressed in it."

There was a shuffle of doors and the rattle of mending glass. The small crowd seemed stumped for a moment, but the offended boy raised his wand in movement to smash the glass of the door again. Harry stepped out into the passageway.

"I wouldn't do that if I where you," he said, coming closer. "Leave now."

"Who…?" the boy, a seventh year Gryffindor named Ted Crumsky, looked at Harry, blinked in recognition. "Harry? It's Malfoy, in there!"

"I know. Leave him alone."

There was no mercy in his voice. Crumsky hesitated but nodded.

"You want to do it? Do you want us to hold him for you?"

A flash of being nine years old, being held down by three boys while Dudley used him for a punishing bag came to Harry. He remembered crying quietly in the school nurse's office being bandaged and scolded for playing too rough. Dudley was standing outside the window making faces at him.

"Get out of here you damn cowards!" he raged. "People like you disgust me! Get away from Malfoy you bullying arse!"

There where flames flying from the tip of his wand bouncing on the corridor mat creating scorch marks. The group scattered in fear and ran away in the other direction. Harry breathed hard, calming himself down. A few doors opened and surprised people looked out. One of the faces where Ron's, another face was Malfoy's.

"I can fight my own battles, Scarface," Malfoy said. "I don't need your help, or your knight in shining armour attitude. Just because you saved the whole world just don't think…"

"I missed you," Harry laughed, making Malfoy stumble on his words and just open and close his mouth like a fish, a very cute fish.

"Shut up, Malfoy," said Ron a little too late.

"I… I see your mother still dresses you, Weasel," Malfoy raised his nose and returned to his compartment, still with the blinders up.

Harry watched in as he passed by. Malfoy looked somewhere between confused and ready to faint. Harry walked on back to his own compartment and sat down next to Luna, making it impossible for Ginny to get too close to him. A strange thought was actually forming in his mind, so strange that he almost wondered if he was possessed again.

He was actually falling in love with Draco Malfoy.

Draco sat alone by the end of the Slytherin table. There was a special table for the "newts", as they were called, but Draco felt safer at his end. The only safe thing with the Slytherins was that they didn't bother with bullying, they just ignored him. He leafed through his lecture schedule that Slughorn had handed him with an away look. Transfiguration, Charms, Potions, Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, and History of Magic and… Defence Against the Dark Arts… Draco looked over to Potter at the news-table; he wondered if Potter was going to take Defence, or teaching it…

When Potter had said that he missed him, Draco had actually felt happy, for about two seconds. Then he had felt panic, fear and then a sinking feeling that told him that he actually had missed Potter too. He bit his lip, looking over his schedule again. Did he really need seven N.E.W.T's?

His fingers were suddenly hot. He screamed in surprise as his schedule went up in flames. There was giggling coming from the Hufflepuff table. Draco scowled, searching for the culprit. He noticed some Ravenclaws pointing at him. He smiled at them; showing up what he knew was a stunning face with straight teeth. There were intakes of breath from scattered parts of the Great Hall.

_"You…"_ he mouthed _"…are on my list."_

The Ravenclaws whitened. Draco conjured a quill and started writing on one of the burned pieces of parchment.

"You don't really have a list do you?"

Draco didn't even need to raise his head to recognise Potter. He didn't answer but continued writing obscenities on the burned paper. Potter sat down opposite him. Draco raised an eyebrow.

"You left your menagerie alone back there," Draco pushed the note over to Potter. "A gift, just for you."

"I'll cherish it always," smiled Potter taking the note, putting it in his pocket.

"What's wrong with you? Too many blows to the head?"

"I like that you're not trying to hide yourself."

"Why should I need to?" Draco poked the ashes on the table with his wand. "I have such a charming personality."

He got up on his feet hiking his heavy schoolbag on to his shoulder. Draco noticed Granger, Weasley, Weasley and Longbottom standing by the door to the hall, looking at him. Lovegood was there as well, but she was looking at the clouds trailing over the ceiling.

"Do… do you want to partner up in class?"

"What class?" Draco shifted nervously.

"Any class you need a partner?"

"Are you trying to save me Potter?" Draco couldn't help but to give half a smile. "I like to see you try."

"Where do I begin?"

"The choices are endless," Draco actually winked before he left.

Harry weaved the threads of his magic between Draco's fingers making the pale skin glow in a luminous fashion. He could feel Ron and Hermione staring at them from across the room, but he really didn't care. Draco looked mildly amused as he moved his hand gracefully in the light. Harry had finished early with the day's task in Charms, light writing, and was now using the rest of the time to flirt with Malfoy.

He had fallen into this childish behaviour more often lately. It had been three weeks since the start of the term. Harry told himself that he only did this to keep Malfoy safe. The bullying and teasing that had started in the first week was now completely gone. Malfoy was still as snotty and sharp-tongued as usual, but somehow Harry had begun to see it as kind of sweet. Harry knew he had it bad when Malfoy had stood up from his solitary seat at the Slytherin table, walked over to the newt-table, taken Harry's piece of apple crumble, exchanged it for his own and then walked back to his seat without saying a word.

The crumble that had originally been Malfoys had been poisoned. It was only Neville's speed and the prisoner's panicked call that had saved Harry from three days in the hospital wing. After that incident Harry had made sure that everyone in the school knew that he was testing Malfoy's food.

"Like I care," Malfoy had smirked and then continued to ignore Harry.

Harry concentrated on the light as it moved in circles around Malfoy's fingers. He felt like an artist with his wand. Magic was just like this, flowing from inside his soul giving light to the path he had chosen to walk on. He was going to be the greatest wizard ever lived. His strong magic was like a gift that had blessed him with hope and now also love. Even if that love seemed very icy, Harry could see the hidden glances, the twitches on corners of smirking lips, the tilt of the head and the touches that seemed so accidental but yet so calculated.

It was only at night before he went to sleep that Harry allowed himself to doubt. The signs that he in daylight interpreted as liking or approval, where they really that? Was Malfoy in fact laughing at him behind his back? Was Harry making a fool of himself as Hermione so repetitiously told him he did? He knew that there had been talk around school, and even the faculty, that he was behaving strange. Ron had even gone so far as accusing Malfoy for using the Imperios, a spell that Malfoy had proved could do very well, before remembering that the spell didn't work on Harry.

Sometimes Harry thought he was going mad, but then he felt certain that this was all part of his calling to bring the wizard world together. If he wanted to be a great wizard like Dumbledore had been, he must work to mend the rifts that Voldemort and his kind had created. One of those creators just happened to be Draco Malfoy. If he could get Malfoy on his side, and maybe even on his arm, it would be a step closer to peace.

He had explained this very thoroughly to Ron, Hermione, Neville and Luna one evening as they visited The Hog's Head and kept getting free drinks from Aberforth. He was not sure he got the message across to his friends though since he had a very hard time not confessing his crush on Malfoy to the entire bar.

Harry had woken up the next day feeling like he had swallowed a Hippogriff. Malfoy told him that he smelled like cat litter and dumped a glob of green goo on his head. It was not until after Harry had held back Ron's feeble attempts to "_smashing the git's face in"_ and showed that he discovered that the goo actually had cured his hangover. He had smiled for the rest of the day, making everyone think he was mad as Luna.

The only trouble with the whole affair was Ginny. She had been growing more and needier. Even through she was in the so called owl-class, thereby technically two years below Harry instead of one, she was spending a lot of time with him. Which in turn only made her more open to Malfoy's razor sharp tongue, constantly making up jokes about redheads, freckles and poverty and needy girlfriends. Harry got the butt of some of the latter ones as well.

It was an evening in the first days of October that Ron finally had enough and confronted Harry.

"Ginny or Malfoy!" he said loudly so his voice echoed through the newt's common room. "You can't have both!"

"Like I would let him have me!" came a conceited call from Malfoy's favourite chair by the fireplace, that no one else dared to go near in fear of getting on his _list_.

"Malfoy," said Harry without hesitation and got a painful slap in the face by Ginny that he had forgotten sat next to him.

Ron had been too chocked to speak after that. Ginny had run crying from the room with Hermione following close behind her. Luna had just congratulated Harry with a pat on his knee. Malfoy had hid his face behind his thick handwritten book so it was impossible to see any expression. Harry had gone to sleep that night felling both excited and terrified at the same time.

Draco had thought long and well over Potter. He was cute, in a disturbing, nauseating, likeable way. But he was not going to be some kind of trophy for the Hero of the Wizarding World. If Potter thought that he could just come and swipe Draco of his feet, he'd another thing coming. Not that Draco would mind being swiped of his feet for once. Only thing that was stopping him from giving Potter a sign of approval, was that last time Potter had done any kind of sweeping in Draco's direction he had ended up in the Hospital Wing with a sliced up chest cage. What it all came down to was if he was brave or if he was out of his mind.

He set up his salt and pepper shakers on the floor before him, looking over his notes from transfiguration. Draco stared at the shakers trying to not to think of that he and Potter might be like salt and pepper. Not that Draco in any circumstance would compare himself to something as common and dull as salt. Maybe powdered arrow root, or if you had to go with salt, some of that exclusive sea salt with basil that his mother had fallen so fond with under her explorations of the Manor kitchen. Draco rolled his eyes and looked over to Potter's friends: chilli, cinnamon, saffron and what ever kind of spice Longbottom could be.

"What are you looking at, Ferret?" asked Weasley in an annoyed tone that couldn't hide his irritation over not being able to turn his salt shaker to a spoon while Granger had enough spoons to invite the entire newt class for a soup luncheon.

"Mustard," said Draco looking Longbottom over.

He ignored the questioning looks from the heroic group, shrugged and turned back to his shakers transfiguring them both wordlessly to perfect pair of silver spoons.

"More like clove," mused Lovegood trying to balance her spoon on the tip of her nose.

Draco couldn't help but to laugh.

"Spicy and sweet?"

"You got it," Lovegood was crossing her eyes to keep them on the spoon.

"Mind letting the rest of us in on the joke?" Potter glanced between them.

"We would," said Draco pretending to investigate the Malfoy coat of arms of his pepper spoon. "But your brain might explode, and I won't be held accountable for the carnage that will ensue when your fans run for the collectable pieces."

This actually made Granger laugh out loud and Longbottom giggle. Potter and Weasley just looked chocked.

"And on that note," Draco collected his things and got to his feet. "Tonight's entertainment is closed. Someplace where you are not present is calling me away and I'm answering that call."

"You are really a pretentious arse," said Weasley.

"Be careful, Weasel. If Granger rubs any more four syllable words on you, it might be your brain exploding."

Draco left the newt common room before any sputtering retort could be given. He continued walking the corridors haphazardly, letting thought fly around his mind. He was thinking of several things at the same time as was his resent habit. One part of his mind stayed on Potter and his own obvious attraction to the pepper-boy. There were also thoughts of Snape, whither he should ask Headmistress McGonagall permission to order a portrait of Snape for the Manor.

He was just thinking about the placing of such a portrait and if Potter would approve when he turned a corner facing the entire Gryffindor Quiddich team dressed for training. Draco, set on his attitude and pride, straightened up. He fixed his stare on the opposite wall behind the team and continued walking. Someone, probably one of the beaters considering the force, pushed him hard into the stone wall. He took a breath, keeping the anger and the words of insult inside.

"What are you up to with Harry?" asked the beater. "You better leave him alone, you scum!"

"Why is it always 'scum'," Draco sighed. "What is it with you people and fermenting yeast, wait don't tell me…"

He was showed into the wall again.

"Hey, what's this?"

Draco could feel Snape's notebook be torn from him.

"Give that back," he said coldly and added "Please" as an afterthought.

"You're always walking around reading this," said the tall and muscular sixth year boy. "What is it? A diary? Is it _your list_?"

"I don't need a list," said Draco in a clear tone. "I remember your snotty face anywhere. Thompson. Now… oufh!"

He didn't have time to finish his sentence before a leather gloved fist hit him in the stomach, making all his air disappear and his knees hit the hard stone floor. At least three pairs of hands lifted him up and pushed him to the wall.

"'_To my favourite student Draco'_…" read Thompson from the first page of the notebook. "…_'on his sixteenth birthday from his proud teacher Severus Snape._'" he gave a undeceived laugh. "His 'favourite' were you _Draco_?"

"Give it back," breathed Draco.

"I don't think so…" Thompson pulled his wand and with the lightest of ease he flicked his hand, setting the book on fire.

Draco screamed, feeling his soul break at the sight of the flames. It was like Snape dying a second time, but this time before his own eyes. He fought against the hands holding him caught, but they where too many of them.

"How many times did you bend over his desk, _Draco_?," Thompson let the burning book fall to the floor. "How many times did you let him fuck you for being his 'favourite'?"

"Not nearly as many times as you have been fucked for being named captain of the Quiddich team," hissed Draco between tears, fury and gritted teeth.

The feeling of his nose breaking was not the worst pain he ever felt, that pain was still privileged to Potter, and of course to Voldemort, but Draco didn't want to remember those particular family dinners.

After the first punch he regenerated to an occlument place in his mind that Snape had taught him all about that blocked out the rest of the world. A convenient, but quite a difficult talent to learn, though it had it's drawbacks that you never knew where you were going to wake up, or for that matter iif/i you where going to wake up. The main consolations in the 'if'-cases was that you more than often in these cases became a ghost that could haunt your murderers to the end of their days.

Draco's mind decided to wake up by itself as a familiar voice penetrated his defences.

"I had enough of this," the voice said. "If I ever find out who did this, they are deader than Voldemort and he died eight times!"

"Well…" Draco tried to feel his limbs but discovered that he was in the soft embrace of a strong pain-release potion. "…there are just seven players in a Quiddich team, but I guess you can save one for later."

"Draco! Thank god, we thought for a moment that you were dead."

Potter's face swam into focus in front of his eyes; behind the mop of black hair was the ceiling of the Hospital Wing. There was genuine worry in those bright green eyes and Draco actually felt comforted.

"Which Quiddich team?" Weasley also came in to view, maybe not as comforting as Potter, but you could not be a chooser in these kinds of situations. "Say it and we will take care of it."

"Ron?" Potter looked up at his friend in wonder.

"Hey, we might not like the git," Weasley gestured to himself, Granger, Longbottom and Lovegood. "But you obviously do for some reason. And even besides that point…" he now growled. "This type of behaviour will not be stand for. Dad is the Head of Aurors, and I would be ashamed to be his son if I stood by letting things like this happen!"

Granger and Longbottom nodded their approval.

"I like the git," said Lovegood with a smile. "He makes me laugh."

Harry had nearly lost it when he thought he had found Malfoy dead. There were still scorch marks on the walls and McGonagall had given him two weeks of detention as soon as they concluded that Malfoy was still alive. Madame Pomfrey had told him that Malfoy was in some kind of self-induced dreamless sleep, which Harry would have thought was really impressive if he wasn't scared out of his mind.

Hermione, Ron and Neville had left to find the Gryffindor Quiddich team. Harry had been forbidden to come with them, for safety reasons.

"On the train…" whispered Malfoy from the bed, his skin knitting itself slowly together after Pomfrey's potions. "You said you had missed me. What did you mean by that?"

"Oh, that," Harry blushed. "I… I just meant that… well…."

"I heard your ambition to be the new Dumbledore, Potter," Malfoy gave half a smile wincing over his broken lip. "You better brush up on those talking skills."

"Well, I'm sure you can help me with that… if you want to…"

"Shut up Potter, and just tell me what you meant. And ignore the mixed messages."

"Yeah," he shifted his seat. "Well, I did miss you. The 'you' you used to be before you got in to all that…"

"Being threatened to my life and trying to prevent my parents from getting killed? "

"Sixth year was hard for us both."

"Some of us have the scars to prove it," Draco touched his hospital shirt's neckline, the beginning of a white scar showing at right side his throat. "This one goes the entire why down to my left pelvis. I guess I should be grateful that you aimed high…"

"Anyway," Harry struggled on, not wanting to imagine Malfoy's pelvis for the moment. "I like the why you bounced back, so to speak. You are brave not to give up yourself."

"How can I throw away the only thing that was working for me?" Malfoy crossed his arms. "It would be like you giving up your… what ever, I'm sure you have something that defines you besides your… huh. I guess not."

"I'm trying not to be insulted here," Harry looked down at his hands.

"I guess you are _kind_ of attractive in a rough good boy way," Malfoy shrugged and licked his now healed lip. "And I _sort of_ like the way you stick up for me, even though I _have_ bounced back, which is a horrible expression by the way."

"So…" Harry looked around to make sure they were alone; Madame Pomfrey was in her office. "Would you like to go out with me? That is, after my two weeks of detention?"

"Ah, consideration time," Malfoy's face was now healed, only some light bruising remained but that would be gone by the next day.

"Hermione was able to save parts of your book," Harry nodded a pile of burnt pages on the nightstand. "I recognize Snape's handwriting. I had a book of his once as well."

"Yeah," Malfoy had taken the pages from the stand and was now looking through them. "He told me how you cheated in sixth year. I'm thinking of telling Slughorn… if you don't make worth my wild."

"Extortionist."

"Don't bring down a good career choice, oh Chosen one."

Harry had many problems. Most of them derived from his neglected childhood and his too incoherent, traumatic but still adventure filled teens. He was far too adult for his young age of eighteen, but in some ways he still felt like a stumbling child trying to find his way home. He didn't like cupboards or closets and he always felt guilty when asking too much of what he deserved. Often words failed him and he was short of temper. He chooses action before thought any day and preferred drawing his own conclusions before asking for the truth.

Draco pretends he doesn't have problems. Sure he knows that he has them, but they are not for public display. He can tell them to his mother, some of them to his father and now increasingly more to Harry as well. Draco is also too adult for his age, even if he still is spoiled like the child he used to be. He puts his pride before everything, except for family even though he'd never admit to that. He uses insults and hard truths as first defence, if this doesn't work he attacks, and is a bad looser if he doesn't succeed. If he ever breaks down he can be needy and prissy for days, but he always comes back with a bark worse than his bite.

Neither of them would ever change for the other, but that is what makes them so good for each other. Maybe they don't understand their own attraction more than any of the hundreds of letter writers and journalists that are begging them to part, but they understand as much that they complete each other. This feeling of belonging only goes deeper as their bodies find more ways to work together. It's impossible to say where they will end up in the future. The only thing that is certain is that they are alive.

The End


End file.
